Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Tom
Ithink I’ve fucked up. Not in the catastrophic way I usually fuck things up, but still. There’s a fine line between a lazy morning cuddle and being a horny idiot with zero self-control over his own dick.
It always starts the same. A few harmless touches. A nice tight hug. Warm body. Safe vibe.
Except then things start to get tight elsewhere, and suddenly the snowball’s rolling at full speed and before I know it, there’s cum spurting everywhere.
I squeeze a line of toothpaste onto my brush and work it around my mouth.
It wasn’t even my intention to take it that far. I just wanted… I don’t know. To be there. To do the right thing.
I’d woken up in the middle of the night because he kicked into my shins. Hard.
After I stopped swearing I found him fighting, obviously trapped in a nightmare.
Watching it sent me into panic mode, because for the first time I wasn’t the one haunted by the silence. I was seeing it happen to someone else.
But I’m never asleep when that happens, so this was new.
He kept begging and screaming.
“Please. No. Don’t do this. Stay with me.”
I’d tried to wake him by calling his name and shaking him gently at first, then harder. Nothing. He was too deep in that nightmare.
My instinct told me: He needs to feel safe.
So I’d pulled him against me and pinned his limbs with mine so he couldn’t hurt himself.
I talked in a soft voice right next to his ear.
“I’m here.”
“I’ve got you.”
“I’m staying. Not going anywhere.”
Over and over.
I think his subconscious heard me, because slowly his body stopped fighting in my grip. His breathing evened out, and within minutes he was heavy against my chest.
My ribs had taken a hit, my legs too. There’ll probably be bruises later, but I don’t care. He was safe and warm in my arms. Holding him had felt so good, I was out within minutes too.
But now I realize the part where I helped him is over, and the part where I can’t help myself is well underway.
Starting with this morning, when I could’ve simply rolled to the colder side of the bed and he’d never have noticed my skin-starved clinginess. But no. I had to keep him in my arms, chest pressed to his back, nose buried in his hair.
Then he woke up and he gave me that wordless yes by connecting his hand with mine, showing me exactly where he wanted to be touched.
And then… one thing led to another.
I let him feel how much he turns me on, and he came so perfectly in my hand.
I thought it was everything.
But then the tissue issue had come up and I just blew it.
I wonder if he thinks I’m weird. Or worse, that I’m a selfish, shitty lover. I don’t want that, because all my references are outstanding.
It’s just that I couldn’t hold it any longer.
And in those last split seconds when every drop of blood had gone south, I saw that box with tissues and thought, brilliant, problem solved, because I didn’t want to…
I don’t even know what. It just ended up being the least intimate finish imaginable.
I wish I’d tried harder to wait for him, to see what he would do.
Even if it was just one wank of his strong hand wrapped around me.
At least then we’d be even. I mean, he came pretty fast in my fist.
And if that isn’t enough, I passed out right after. One moment I was trying to calm his inner crisis, the next I woke up in an empty bed. I can’t really embarrass myself more.
But I don’t regret how natural it had felt. Him pressing back against me, me grinding into that perfect peach.
I don’t know how it was for him. I just hope he’d felt what I felt; it had made me forget the world for a while.
Now it’s just me in the house. The Gremlin is still parked outside where we left it, so I figure Yosh went for his run.
I switch the toothbrush to my other hand and focus on the back teeth, then spit into the drain of the outdoor shower.
The bathroom sink still works, but there’s a crack splitting the porcelain. The one in the kitchen is in better shape, aside from the faucet that won’t stop leaking. I don’t trust either to survive a gentle tap, so I brought myself out here instead.
It’s a little nostalgic. The last time I’d brushed my teeth outdoors was when Mum took me and Cheryl to visit family in the Highlands. We’d camped near a loch. I was so young I barely remember anything. Just the loch, and the fact that Mum was still there.
I turn open the tap and cup my hands underneath it. First handful to rinse my mouth, second and third to wash my face. Then I run water through my hair.
I shake my curls loose and toss my head back, the water cooling my neck and spine. Eyes closed against the spray, it drips across my lips.
My mouth feels like the damn Sahara and the water is cold and unexpectedly sweet. This feels fucking amazing.
When I open my eyes, Yosh appears from around the side of the house.
I was right, he was on his run. It looks like he brought breakfast too.
Perfect timing. I was about to hunt one of those wild pigs that roam the scrub here at night.
“Look at you. Seems like you had a good night's sleep.”
He brushes a hand over his sweaty forehead, ponytail swaying beautifully in the wind.
I instantly forget how to speak. I have to pinch myself to stop the obscene fantasies flashing in my upstairs circus.
By the time I find my voice, I decide to go with banter. It’s safer.
“I didn’t expect any less in Villa Crumble Aparté.”
I twist away from the slap coming straight for my side.
I expect another, but he steps back. His fingers hook under the hem of his shirt, pulling it off with maddening slowness.
Every inch of skin revealed is intentional, I can tell by the way his fingers skim the toned ridges of his abs, one after the other, slow and with soft pressure.
There's even a roll with his hips that looks suspiciously professional.
This has Tuesdays at Joan's club written all over it; cops, fire fighters, plumbers and pizza delivery guys. Now add hot yoga teacher to that list.
I know what this is. He’s giving me thirst as punishment for this morning.
“Rude,” he says all chill, but the look he throws over his shoulder is flirty.
“I let you sleep in my bed, I offer you a bright good morning, and you insult my house? I’m starting to feel used, Thomas James McKenna.”
He turns, heading for the outdoor shower.
Barefoot. Half-naked. Sweaty and radiant in the sun.
And like a loyal dog with no sense of self-preservation, I follow.
“No, uhm…your place, it’s really lovely,” I manage to squeeze out, not sure how. The muscles on his back shift and that hypnotizing serpent coils with every step he takes.
“I can only imagine what kind of paradise this will be when it’s finished.”
He’s underneath the shower now, hand hovering over the faucet.
“Call it what you want. You’re still here. And you’re still watching.”
I don’t deny it. Can’t. My silence is a confession.
The humid air in the backyard is thick, and it's not just from last night’s rainfall.
I’m stepping closer. Just one step. It’s enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. Enough that if I reached out, I could graze my fingers down the curve of his spine, make them disappear into his running shorts.
But I don’t. I won’t.
I shove my hands into my pockets like I’m handcuffed.
“Your bed’s the best,” I say, voice rough and low. “I woke up embarrassingly satisfied.”
His shoulders lift with a breath. Still not facing me. So goddamn close.
“I could tell. You showed me you were exactly where you wanted to be.”
I take another step without meaning to. We’re nearly touching now, my shadow blending with his. I could kiss that divine place just below his ear. I could ruin everything.
He finally turns his head, just enough that I see the corner of his mouth lift.
I don’t know if I want to kiss him or jump him. My body’s screaming one thing, my mind another. But somehow, somewhere at the bottom of this grave I’ve been digging, I manage to scrape together a shred of self-control.
So instead, I bring my mouth close to his ear and whisper, “I want another sleepover.”
We both stay frozen in place. The water still hasn’t started. We’re holding our breaths.
He reaches for the tap, breaking the spell as water spills down like rain.
I shake my head, laughing at my own misery. The guy is a fucking tease.
I’m not giving him the satisfaction of me chasing him. I made my move this morning, it’s his turn now.
I walk away and mutter that I’ll serve breakfast.
It’s the right kind of distraction. If he kept talking like that, I swear I would’ve grabbed him by that annoyingly perfect ponytail, pushed him down to his knees, and let him prove whether that mouth’s good for more than just talk.
And as brilliant as that plan sounds in theory, I’m still in some kind of danger zone, and things could go terribly, spectacularly, wrong.
The porch creaks under my bare feet as I step outside with two glasses of ice water sweating in my hands.
Yosh sits cross-legged against the wall, eyes closed, face lifted toward the sun like a sunflower.
His hair is still wet from the shower, drops gliding down onto his bare chest. It's distracting as hell.
“You’re fast,” I say, handing him a glass.
He shoots me a cocky, flirty grin. “You’re slow.”
I don’t know what happened to him and who this more flirty Yosh is, but I like him.
I go and sit beside him.
Between us is a crumpled paper bag, already half-open. He pulls out a couple of arepas. One looks like chicken and avocado, the other one is filled with shredded beef and paprika.
“Those are yours,” he says, pushing the bag toward me.
Same order, only with cheese added.
“You always eat like this after a run?”
“Nah. This is a treat. Usually oatmeal with banana, almond butter, and soy milk. Nothing fancy, enough protein and carbs to keep me from crashing.”
I scoff.
“Nothing fancy? That sounds like a proper influencer breakfast. Only thing missing is a vintage filter and a motivational quote.”